


The Champion's Armor

by ARandomFactoid



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Armor, Gen, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2023104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARandomFactoid/pseuds/ARandomFactoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the Champion's Armor is too good to have been looted off of bodies, a re-telling of how Hawke's friends came to celebrate Hawke's ascension to Champion of Kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr

It starts with a gauntlet.

Fenris sets the thing down on the table as he takes his usual spot to Varric’s left at the dwarf’s table at the Hanged Man. This is notable to Varric; for one, the elf is quite early for the card game, and two, a man with two arms does not have need of a third gauntlet.

“Did Blondie cast a spell that hasn’t taken effect yet?” Varric asks, not quite looking up from his writing. “Are you going to be branching out, as it were?”

Fenris huffs and pushes the gauntlet closer to Varric. “It is meant for Hawke. I have heard it is… customary for a new Champion to be given gifts as a… token of esteem.” He stops, hesitating and taking a moment to adjust the strip of red around his wrist. “And she has been grousing about the recent preponderance of commemorative platters and embroidered tea towels.” Fenris tapped the table next to the gauntlet with a pointed tip covering his fingers. “Also, she has always seemed to take an interest in mine.”

“The gauntlets, right.” Varric deadpanned. “So why are you showing this to me?” He looks up at Fenris, “You’re going to give it to her, right?”

“That is why I am so unfashionably early, dwarf. I have heard Isabela mention a party, here, at the Hanged Man?”


	2. The Black Emporium

Several days later, Varric finds himself leading the merry band of misfits, minus Hawke and Fenris, through the lowest reaches of Kirkwall in search of the Black Emporium. It is not going well.

“Why didn’t we just ask Hawke to lead us to the shop? She’s always found it before.” Merrill asks as she zaps a kitten-sized spider with her staff. “And there aren’t usually so many spiders her way.”

“Or rats.” Aveline grouses as a squeak skitters away from her location. “Are you sure you know the way Varric? Did you even ask Hawke?”

Varric rolled his eyes and shook his head. “This is for Hawke, asking her for directions would have ruined the surprise. Besides, I’ve disarmed traps along the route ages ago, and there are no traps, right? I know what I’m doing.”

Isabela giggles from up ahead. “Looks like you missed a few Varric.” When the others catch up, Sebastian and Isabel are standing next to each other; Sebastian sacrificing an arrow to spring a claw trap while Isabela pries apart an incendiary device with her daggers. “You were saying?” she asks, holding up the disassembled trap for inspection. “This is ancient. Face it Varric, we’re lost.”

Before Varric can come up with an acceptable retort, Anders heaves a long-suffering sigh and at the top of his lungs calls out. “OH FOR ANDRASTE’S SAKE - XENON YOU SMELLY OLD FART. WE KNOW YOU’RE HERE. TURN THE LANTERNS ON - IT’S FOR HAWKE AND MAKER KNOWS YOU COULD USE THE COIN. COME ON!”

A groaning from the depths precedes the cold blast of air that pulls at their loose edges, and Merrill starts to stutter Anders’ name when a line of lanterns light up - first off in the distance, than closer, than up over their heads and behind, the way they came.

Sebastian smiles at Anders. “That was certainly clever, Anders. It didn’t occur to me to just ask, even if you could have been a bit more polite about it.”

 

“Oh what do you care how a mage treats a magically preserved half-corpse, chantry boy?” Anders snipes back, “Let’s get on with this, I’ll have a job ahead of me making your baubles useful.”

Once inside the shop, no one bothers to greet the proprietor who begins his lugubrious monologue without need of acknowledgement. The mages peel off towards the tables groaning under their burden of magical crafting supplies while the others find themselves staring at the jumbled pile of mismatched equipment heaped along the edges of the shop’s floor.”

“What material did you say Fenris’ gauntlet is?” Aveline asks, toeing a helm that looks like it was last useful during the Blessed Age.

“I didn’t ask, and Broody didn’t say. It’d be shiny if it wasn’t… not so much shiny.” Varric answered with a shrug as he turned over a shield to look beneath.

“So silverite, then?” Sebastian offered. “It would make sense - it isn’t too heav-”

“Ah hah!” Varric exclaimed, holding up a piece of armor that, if Hawke wasn’t a mage, could be thought to be a functional breastplate.

“That’s a breastplate, Varric.” Aveline sighed. “Hawke doesn’t need a breastplate, she needs… boots.” she finishes as she lifts a pair that would match Varric’s selection quite nicely.

“Well,” Varric muses, rubbing his chin as he props the armor against his hip. “I worry about her head, all the way up there near the sharp end of all those swords - and this has one of those ‘keep your head from getting chopped off things’ sticking out of it.”

“Keep your head from getting chopped off things?” Sebastian chuckles. “Don’t you know anything about armor Varric?”

“Hey, I know lots about armor, Choir Boy, Bianca and I are tops at putting holes through all kinds. Why, do you know what it’s called?”

“I do.”

“And?” Varric bowed, inviting Sebastian to enlighten him.

“Do you really care, is it a detail you need for your next story?” Sebastian asked, turning away as he regarding a heap of fabric. “Hawke’ll be needing good under-padding if this is what you two’ll be gifting her.”

“Not really,” Varric sighed. “I’m sure it will look quite heroic once she has it on.” He hefted the breastplate up and began to carry it over to Xenon’s Urchin, where Isabela was playing ‘I’m not touching you’ with the very uninterested lad.

“Already done?” he asks her, and laughs as she crinkles her nose at him. 

“There are no hats Varric. I’m going to give Hawke a glorious hat! She always tries them on, but never buys one.” Isabela complained.

“I don’t think mages much go for hats, Rivani.” Varric answers, tilting his head back towards the bare-headed mages bickering over magic rock pieces.

“Of course they do!” Isabela crowed. “Not when they’re apostates hiding from the Chantry, but in Ferelden, Orlais? Big pointy ones - with feathers. How do you not know these things Varric? You’re supposed to know everything.”

“I think Varric’s right, Isabela.” Aveline answers instead, placing the boots next to the breastplate. “I think-”

“The ONE called HAWKE alWAyss TOUCHES the purPLE ONE OVer… ovER…. URCHIN!” Xenon interrupts, and the Urchin scampers off. He ducks under Sebastian’s arms to snatch an item, bringing back a purple hood, which he puts in Isabela’s hands when she leans downs to take it from him, and gives her a poke on the nose for all the trouble and scampers away as soon as his hands are free.

“Fair play, little man,” she laughs. “I suppose I’m sold, given the old codger isn’t lying to get rid of it because it has some horrible curse on it.”

“Worse than you?” Aveline asks with a nudge of the shoulder.

“Don’t start.” Isabela shoots back, then doubles over with giggles when Sebastian approaches, holding a pair of trousers and a padded jerkin, looking very unsure of himself.

“The, uh, shop lad handed me these and pushed me over here. I think he’s decided on these for Hawke - but I don’t know if they’ll fit her.”

“TaiLORs ARE a WONDERful THING. ON THE surFACE.” Xenon supplies with a cackle.

“I think that’s our cue to make haste and leave.” Varric ventures, pulling a purse from his belt. “Hey Blondie, Daisy, are you about done magicing it up over there. The shopkeep’s getting antsy, and I don’t like the look of that golem.”

“You don’t like the look of any golem, and yes.” Anders answers, turning around with an armful of supplies. “Is that silverite? Not the most practical, but Hawke will approve.”

Merrill slips in around Anders, holding a single tiny bottle. “This is all they have here,” she explains, “for what I need, anyway. I’ll have to go to coast for the rest, or maybe Sundermount, whichever has the…. nevermind - it’s a surprise.” 

“Well, that’ll be a lovely walk for us later this afternoon I’m sure.” Varric reassured her with a pat on the arm. “Have I mentioned this is all on the Merchant’s Guild? I don’t think an extra elfroot, or shiny hat, will be noticed.”

“No, I’m good!” Merrill beams at him before heading off towards the door.

Varric sighs at the Urchin and hands over the purse. The Urchin rifles through the small bag, taking a less heart-stopping amount than Varric had expected before handing it back.”

“CHAMPIONS’s disCOUNT.” Xenon says to no one in particular. “GOOD DAY!”

They make haste back to the surface. And in their haste end up exiting the sewers on the wounded coast.

“At least no one has to come back out here with Merrill.” Varric tries to console the group.

It’s almost sun-down by the time the merry band make their way back to the Hanged Man. Merrill finds her ingredients without having to go too far off of the path, and they encounter very few bandits and only three disgruntled Tal-Vashoth along the way. Still, the stop at the tailor’s shop didn’t take as long as expected. And the tailor has no qualms about their borrowing Hawke’s custom dress-form to use as a stand, he even gives over a pouch that Hawke had commissioned but had not yet picked to be part of the gift. Sebastian only pats her arm, and Isabela giggles, when Merrill observes “It’s almost as if he wanted us to leave, but was afraid for some reason. We’re only scary to people who want to kill us, aren’t we?”

The mages set up on Varric’s table as the others watch. When Varric asked if he should send for Sandal, or Worthy, for the runes, Anders scoffed. “I remember a thing or two from my time at Vigil’s keep. Merrill and I have this. Don’t we?” he asks, looking up at Merrill.

“Yes. We do.” she smiles back at him. “Will Hawke be very long?” she asks, looking to Varric.


	3. Distraction

It’s Fenris’ job to keep Hawke busy on the day. It proves interesting, given their uncertain status. He manages by making the most out of a reading lesson, which have at this point mostly turned into prolonged reading aloud and drinking decent wine sessions. They also burn a few of the tea towels - the ones with the more hideous depictions of Hawke’s features. She gives him a curious look when he suggests a trip to the market, and he almost makes a hash of it all when he has to turn her away from the tailor’s when he spots Sebastian and Merrill trailing the rest of Hawke’s friends through Hightown. Fortune favors him in that he had turned her towards his mansion, and the odds and ends they had picked up constituted the better part of a supper. 

It’s well after dark by the time they’ve finished eating, sprawled out on a blanket in front of Fenris’ banked fire.

“I know you lot are throwing a party for me at the Hanged Man tonight.” Hawke ventures as she brings her glass to her mouth.

“I know you know. It’s not a secret.” Fenris answers noncommittally as he leans back on his hands.

“But why send you as a distraction, I wonder?” She presses back.

“Is that what I am?” he asks. “I thought we were merely reading, destroying abominable tea towels, and shopping. Hardly distracting pursuits.”

“Well, I discharge you of your duty, as a distraction. I want a bath before my party.” Hawke announces, pushing herself to her feet with her hands.

Fenris doesn’t rise with her, merely watching as Hawke sets her glass on a table and turns to the door. “Should I tell the others you will be two hours, then?”

“An hour, if you please.” Hawke stops at the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Fenris laughs as he rises from the floor. “I’ve waited on you taking a bath - you’re an hour to soak. The rest…” he trails off.

“Very correct, and observant.” She laughs as she pushes off. “But the others do so well when you tell them to be an hour early - then they’re only ever actually a quarter hour late. I’d like my surprise to be ready when I arrive.” she says over her shoulder as she makes her way down the staircase and out of his front door.

Fenris arrives at Varric’s suite to find a random assemblage or armor and general disorganized chaos. Varric and Aveline are half-drunk, snoozy and bored in one corner. Sebastian is trying to assist Merrill, who can’t touch anything as her hands are covered in something red and wet, but she’s not used to giving directions, so not much is getting accomplished. Isabela is elsewhere, but there is the sound of fighting not too far off. Anders, at least, appears to be making progress on something as he starts stacking armor off to the side. He’s the first to notice Fenris’ arrival, with “Good, you’re here. Now help.” he instructs, handing over the first of several pieces meant for the dress form made armor stand.

Fenris is tempted to tell them they only have half an hour, but resists and gives them the hour deadline Hawke requested.


	4. Reveal

Aveline and Fenris are pushing the assembled gift into the relative privacy of Varric’s bedroom when a cry of acclaim sounds from the taproom, announcing Hawke’s arrival. Isabela breezes back into the room just ahead of Hawke, setting herself down in front of Anders on the low bench and giving his leg a pat. Varric, Merrill, and Sebastian are trying to pretend they are deep into a round of wicked grace - Merrill somehow giving the best performance despite never having quite grasped the game. Fenris and Aveline are caught standing in the middle of the room, shuffling their feet and stuttering a greeting.

“Hello,” Hawke grins, “am I late, everyone’s here.” She throws a wink at Fenris, “Or am I early?”

“Just in time.” Merrill answers for the group. “Should we do it now? Please can we do it now?” she adds, not addressing anyone in particular.

Biting her lower lip, Hawke crosses her arms and scans the room. “Do what? Is there job? A spider’s need killing? What?”

“Broody?” Varric laughs, “Did you maybe, perhaps, tell Hawke we were planning something?”

“He did no such thing!’ Hawke laughs. “I’ve been getting a lot of surprises lately. So?” she asks, putting out her hands and closing her eyes, “what did you get me? Please say it’s the gaudiest of of all gaudy tea towels. I expect nothing but the best from my friends.”

 

It’s Isabela who reacts first, popping out of her seat and grasping one of Hawke’s outstretched hands. “You’re with me, Guard Captain.” she jerks her head towards Varric’s room. It’s been a few years since I’ve donned the stuff proper, this is your field of expertise.”

Aveline nods and links arms with Hawke. Hawke lets herself be led away without protest, and tilts her head in bemusement and catches Fenris’ eye as she exits the room. Those left behind share awkward glances, unsure of what to do and all with an ear perked for Hawke’s response. It doesn’t take long, a gasp - a breathy “Blessed Andraste, what have you all done?” and then everything is Isabela’s laughter, direct murmurs from Aveline, half heard through the partition, and anticipation.

Eventually the room falls silents, and whole minutes pass without anyone exiting the room. Merrill moves to speak, but Sebastian covers her hand with his, and Varric clears his throat, shaking his head. Fenris shifts on his feet, having not moved from where Hawke last saw him, and starting to wonder if this had been a good idea. Isabela and Aveline emerge, without Hawke, and Fenris begins to dread - he does not take this as a sign of good tidings.

“She insisted on know who’s idea this was.” Aveline addressed Fenris. “She wants you to see first.”

Fenris nods and walks the few feet ducking under the draped partition with his hands behind his back. He doesn’t look up until he’s a stride away from her, and she…

“Well, what do you think?” she asks, holding her arms out and turning for his inspections.

The thoughts crash around in Fenris’ head. Wildly Ferelden - that was nothing new, but more so. Powerful, strong, the slayer of dragons and Arishoks, defender of the helpless and the lost. Aurora Hawke, the woman-

“You look like the Champion of Kirkwall.” he answered lamely. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” she asked, “What do I think?” she repeated. “It’s bloody fantastic!” she laughs, lunging forward and pulling him into an awkward hug, her new armor stopping her short against his own breastplate. She laughed again, and dares a kiss on his cheek. “You are a bloody brilliant man - I’ve always wanted one of these!” she exclaimed, holding up the gauntleted arm.”

“Evidently so.” he allows, rubbing his cheek where her lips had been. “Perhaps you can show the others, I expect they’ll start writing a new chapter of Isabela’s…”

“Let’s.” she grins and pulls him out of the room behind her.

Hawke joins in on the cheer that sounds when she exits, nearly shouting her thanks back at their collective huzzah for their Hawke. Fenris is not the only one who receives a kiss in thanks, Hawke further scandalizing Sebastian with a quick peck on the lips during the round of hugs and exclamations about their collective effort. When she has Merrill wound up and buried in her arms, Merrill pipes up.

“Hawke… there’s one more thing. If you’ll let me, lethallan?” she asks pulling back and holding up a small jar. Hawke nods and lets herself be led again, this time to Varric’s table. “It’s not really magic,” she explains, “and you’re not Dalish, but… you just needed something.” Merrill opens the jar and dips a finger into the red stain and starts to draw a pattern on a bit of bared skin on Hawke’s arm.

Fenris’ attention is drawn away by Isabela sidling next to where he stands, raising an eyebrow at her when she bumps a hip into him. “This was well done, Fenris.” she says quiet and low, just for him to hear.

“It was. You all… surpassed expectations.”

“Tosh!” she bumps him again. “This was you and don’t think she doesn’t at least expect it. Are you ever going to tell her? You know…”

Fenris groans quietly and tries to move away, but doesn’t resist when Isabela drops an arm around his shoulders, holding him in place. “There’s nothing to tell.” he says as he slumps under her weight.

“You don’t have to, but you don’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.” She gives him a smile. “Or you can run away and join my crew when I have a ship, it’s always your choice.”

A giggle erupts from Hawke, and Fenris uses the distraction to shrug out of Isabela’s grasp stepping towards the noise, he’s caught by Hawke looking straight back at him - a bright red line of Merrill’s concoction now crossing her face, and grinning madly and Merrill giggles into a stained hand behind her.

“Merrill says I’m done now.” Hawke, crows. “Truly the Champion. Will you accompany me to the bar so I can show off?” she asks, quirking her head towards the taproom. “Least I could do is buy a round.”

“Tonight’s on the Merchant’s Guild, Hawke.” Varric yells over the the rest of their discussions. “So the good stuff, and don’t let them see any coin!”

“Right-O Varric,” she sing-songs back as she leans her shoulder into Fenris as the both begin to move. As the cross the corridor and start to descend the stairs she stops, and catches Fenris’ elbow as he starts to pull ahead. 

“Thank you.” she says quietly when Fenris’ eyes have traveled from her hand on his arm to face. Her smile is small, none of the ready charm and just radiating warmth directly, and exclusively, to him.

Fenris shrugged, but did not pull away, and gave his usual, useless answer. “I am yours.”

And as always, she smiled, and it was enough, for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
